CSi: The Case of a Modern Day Montrèsor
by A Rhea King
Summary: The team has already lost one CSI to the stress of the job. Are they about to lose another?
1. Chapter 1

**A Twist of Fate:  
The Case of the Modern Montrèsor  
**By  
A. Rhea King

* * *

_His keen observation tripped a sinister catalyst that sent Nick's world into a kamikaze tailspin._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Lupe Perez had enjoyed plants since his childhood in Chile. He seemed to have a magic touch that made them content and thrive. It was the reason Mister Garcia had hired him without proof of citizenship, had allowed him to move into the small single room trailer at the back of the nursery, and helped him get his green card. Since Lupe had come to Painted Desert Nursery, the tree groves under his care flourished. Even the sickly little saplings at the edge of the property had become lush and green.

One of his secrets was at night and sing ancient songs while he sprayed the trees with a supplement his great-grandfather had passed down. It was made from plants found in the jungle that had once fenced in Lupe's village – the jungle, the village, and his family had long ago disappeared. Garcia never asked why Lupe ordered the ingredients, and was willing to pay the price to have them shipped to America.

With over six acres of trees, it took Lupe a month of nights to cover one end to the other. He was always amused at how much the trees changed in that month. Lupe stopped singing when he noticed a mark on one of the trees. He stopped the sprayer and hung it on the hook from his backpack canister. Lupe pulled off his flashlight and shined it on the tree. Something had brushed against the tree so hard it peeled back some of the soft bark. Lupe reached out, touching the wound. He muttered his sympathies to the tree, patting it.

He heard a strange noise and fell silent to listen. He'd heard this noise before, but the memory was old and buried. He turned, shining his flashlight through the darkness. The light beam flashed across something moving on the ground and he slowly swung it back. At the edge of the grove, where a service road ran by the trees, the ground was moving.

He walked toward the area, watching the ground. It was up heaved and disturbed like someone had dug it up. He noticed two PVC lying discarded on the ground. He hadn't put those there and Garcia would have told him if there had been work on the drip system that watered the trees. Lupe winced when something stun his ankle. He shined the light down and his breath wisped away. The ground was moving with millions of ants. They covered his feet and were moving up his leg. He started panicking, smacking at his legs as he tried to get away. He stumbled over one of the PVC pipes and fell the ants.

The ants quickly covered him, injecting venom with each sting. Lupe struggled to his feet and ran screaming into the desert. He fell and rolled, trying to get the ants off. But the insects that had outlived the dinosaurs were undeterred by the man's attempt to save himself.

#

Nick stood at the edge of a grave, staring down into it with his camera clutched in one hand. The bottom was alive with fire ants. Survival was all they knew, and that meant eating everything that got in their way. Once that had even meant him.

"Nick," Catherine's voice said. It almost sounded like it came from the grave. "Hey, Nicky."

Nick looked at her. She stared at him with open concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah. Fine."

"You seem distracted."

"Just working the crime scene. What's up?"

"Did you remember to bring your Epi tonight?"

Nick patted the vest pocket the epinephrine filled Epipens were stored. Anymore, he made sure they were with him on every call.

"Just checking. Don't go near that box until they clear it, okay? I'll be over with the other body if you need me."

"Okay."

She grabbed his arm, digging her fingers into him. "I'm serious, Nick. Don't you dare go macho on me. If you run into problems, get out of here, use your Epi, call me. Got it?"

"No macho, macho man. Got it."

She chuckled as she walked away. Nick watched her go. She hadn't wanted him to take this case because of his allergy. He argued back that a few ants were not going to be the death of him. He knew hazmat would clear the scene before they'd let him in or near the body.

Nick crouched down, looking at the soil sitting to the left of the grave. Hazmat had been careful to dig it up and put it aside for him, but not so careful digging up the rest of the dirt and piling it to the right. He glanced at the three men around the wooden box – presumably a coffin. They were fending off the flow of fire ants coming from the two holes in the box, most likely where the two 4-inch PVC pipes that lay nearby had fitted in. But why had they been fitted into the box? What purpose had they served in this crime?

Nick came to another realization. All these fire ants and no visible mound. That didn't make much sense either. He pulled his Maglight off his belt and began searching for the mound.

"The coffin's clear," a hazmat man called out to him.

Nick turned, walking back to them.

The man told him, "There's a few still squirming, so be careful reaching in. An exterminator is coming with some more powerful stuff to deal with the ones in the grave."

"Thanks," Nick told him.

The three men started up the road to their truck. Nick walked over to the box and snapped off photos. He carefully lifted off the lid and turned it over. Dead fire ants clung to the particle wood, dripping off like blood. Inside were the partial remains of a woman. The ants had eaten away most of the fleshy areas, in some places down to the bone. Only part of her left eye remained; she had been blue eyed. The sight brought on a light wave of quickly passing nausea.

Nick took his heavy work gloves from his back pocket and pulled them on. He snapped off some more photographs, and then grabbed the garden spade and clean paint can sitting next to his kit. He crouched down and started scooping dead fire ants – and a few still struggling between life and death – into the paint can. Grissom was very specific about wanting a can from each body brought back so he could get a better time line.

The tip of the spade brushed the corpse's left hand, turning her wedding ring. His eyes moved to her curled fingers, something expected as rigor mortis had set in. But what he didn't expect to see was the tips of her fingers. Nick picked up her hand, turning it as far as he could. His keen observation tripped a sinister catalyst that was about to send Nick's world into a kamikaze tailspin.

"Hey, Nick, I'm going to head back with my body," Catherine said as she walked up to him.

Nick didn't hear her again but it wasn't meandering thoughts or a mental mapping of the crime scene that made him stonewall her. This time it was memories from his past sabotaged his mental stability.

Her next question was distorted and unintelligible to him, "What did you find?"

The skin on the corpse's fingers was torn and shredded, worn to the bone by her scraping them against something. Several fingernails had been ripped out of the nail beds. Nick slowly stood, moving the shaking light of his Maglite to the coffin's lid. The fingernails were embedded in the wood. Trails of blood and long scratches had chewed up the inside of the lid, and the sight caused broken, razor-edged shards of memories to rip through Nick.

"Nicky, what's wrong? Why are you shaking?" Catherine asked, but it sounded more like the sound of Plexiglas slowly cracking.

Nick stepped back from the coffin, his eyes going to the woman's face. What he saw in the box stole his control over his emotions and caused his body to react on instincts. That wasn't an unidentified woman in the coffin. That was him. He was the one that died in the coffin, eaten alive by fire ants. He was the one that had screamed and tried to claw his way out of a hellish grave.

"Nick, what's wrong?" Catherine's questions may as well be the wind of the little fan in his ear that was slowly dying as the battery power faded. "Help you how? What's wrong?"

He retreated from the box. He wanted to turn and run, to back away faster, but his mind and body had separated. He was a helpless passenger doomed to travel where his body took him.

"Nick, stop!" Catherine yelled. "STOP!"

Her hands grabbing for his arm was the grim reaper come to wait for Nick's last breath. He fought back, retreating faster. He stumbled and then he was falling. Nick landed hard at the bottom of a grave full of fire ants dug.

Nick screamed. He didn't feel the millions of biting insects; he could only panic as his mind played a malicious but fake memory of watching Walter Gordon bury him.

One scoop…

Two scoop…

Three scoops…

"PANCHO, GRAB MY HAND!"

The name was a life preserver dragging him out of consternation. He was able to see Catherine and a hazmat man kneeling at the edge holding their hands out to help him from the grave. He wasn't buried, but he wasn't able to breathe either and each breath was harder to take than the last. Nick lunged forward, grabbing each of their hands in his. They pulled him up and clear of the hole. Someone came at him with a fire extinguisher. Catherine wrapped her body around his head to prevent the CO2 from suffocating him. Only being able to draw shallow breaths made Nick writhe and try to break free from her hold.

"Just a few seconds, Nicky. Hold on for just a few seconds," Catherine promised him.

"CLEAR!" someone yelled.

Catherine ripped the pull across the zipper on Nick's vest, spilling the three Epipens inside onto the ground. She looked up when someone grabbed one, staring at Doctor Robbins.

"Hold on, Nick. Just one more second. Just one more second, Nick," Robbins told him as he ripped the injector from the tube and prepped it.

He fell to one knee, grimacing in pain when he did, and then jammed the injector hard against Nick's thigh.

#

Nick held his breath, and then slowly let it out. It was an almost involuntary habit he'd developed during childhood. Every time he was stung and it had come down to the last few seconds before death, after the epinephrine opened his lungs again, he would sit and breathe in long, deep, full breaths. It was like his brain had forgotten how and his body was retraining it. Tonight, however, he did it for entirely different reasons.

"The crime scene is covered," Catherine said, her voice coming closer with the sound of her shoes crunching gravel.

Nick slowly opened his eyes, looking down the road at his crime scene.

"Let's get you to the hospital."

"I'm not going."

Catherine had already disappeared around the side, probably even opened the driver's side door.

"What?" she asked from behind him.

"I am not going. I have a crime scene to process." Nick leaned over, grabbed the handle of his kit, and started down the road toward his crime scene.

Catherine jogged around in front of him, holding out her hands. He simply walked around her.

"Nick, no. You need to go to the hospital."

He didn't argue or agree. His mind was made up and no one was changing it. She grabbed his arm and his anger flared. He spun, flinging his arm to rip it free from her grip and almost hitting her. She fell back, wincing as if she were expecting him to hit her.

He saw Robbins, the hazmat men and uniformed officers turn to watch them. Nick turned away, continuing down the road. Catherine followed him.

Catherine battered him with questions as she trailed behind him. "What happened? Why did you panic? Why were you begging for help?"

Nick didn't answer her.

"Nick, you almost died. You need to go to the hospital!"

He didn't stop.

"NICK!" Catherine snapped.

He ignored her.

"Nicholas Stokes, stop!"

He didn't, and she didn't call after him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Nick reached across to scratch the opposite arm. He snapped his hand into a fist and dropped it to the table. He focused all his attention on the microscope trying to ignore the itching bites. Hodges walked up, standing dangerously close.

"You know, I have a home remedy that works great on insect bites," Hodges told him.

Nick looked up at him. Hodges smiled. Nick didn't return it.

"What do you want, Hodges?" Nick growled.

"The hairs you found on your corpse's clothes are male, but of no relation to the victim. I ran the assault kit and there was no semen. I also pulled her dental records and have a name for your Jane Doe – Sarah Montrèsor."

Nick picked up the print outs, looking them over. The results and what Hodges had done made his anger start to raise one peg at a time.

"_Why_ did you run the hair DNA through CODIS? I didn't ask you to do that."

Hodges grinned. "I needed something to do and I wanted to show my initiative. Looks like the husband may be good for her murder, too."

Nick stood, turning to face him.

"What?" Hodges innocently asked.

"Lab rats run the tests. CSI decide which databases to run them through, _if_ they need to be run. Don't you _ever_ do my job for me again."

Hodges was quickly crumbling under Nick's anger. He offered Nick a nervous smile. "I was just trying to help."

"Did I _say_ I wanted your help?"

"I, uhm— My bad. I'm sorry. Bye."

He scampered away. Nick looked up, finding Grissom standing in the hall, staring at him. Nick turned his back on Grissom, sitting back down at the microscope. Tonight not even Grissom, someone he respected more than his own father, was safe from his ravished, angry monster.

#

Grissom found Hodges in his lab with his nose stuck in work.

"Hodges?" Grissom said.

He smiled at him, but his smile didn't hide how bad Nick had shaken him.

"I heard Nick yelling at you. What happened?" Grissom asked.

Hodges shook his head, turning back to his work. "Nothing. I just… Nothing. It was nothing."

"Hodges, what happened?"

Hodges looked up at him. "I don't want him to know I said anything."

"He won't."

"I'd heard what happened at his crime scene, so I was trying to help. I ran the DNA results through CODIS for him and it made him angry. He said I was doing his job."

"Give me what you gave him."

Hodges reprinted the documents and handed them to Grissom.

"Thank you Hodges. Take a break if you need on."

"Thanks."

Grissom left, reading the information. He slowed to a stop as he saw things in the report and DNA comparison that would have set Nick off, again. With a heavy sigh, he headed for the parking lot.

#

With a magnify glass and tweezers, Nick moved slowly over the cover of the coffin. His mind wasn't here. It was trying to return to his burial, but kept getting sidetracked by this one. He paused, sensing a presence. Nick turned his head, staring at Greg. He was pulling on latex gloves.

"This is a mess," Greg commented. "Where do you want me to start?"

Nick didn't answer. Greg smiled as he looked up, but it faded when he met Nick's hard stare.

"Don't you have your own case to work?" Nick snapped.

"I can't do anything on it right now. Hodges is running samples of tar for me, and my corpse is being chipped."

"Chipped?"

"Yeah. Grissom told me to put it in an ice bath to harden the tar, but Robbins won't let me do it. I keep stabbing my corpse when I do it. So… What do you need help with?"

"I don't need help."

Greg stood up, looking at the evidence around the layout room. "Well… There's the clothes and the—"

"I don't need help, Greg." Nick repeated as he stood up.

Greg looked at him.

"Are you sure? I could—"

Nick took a step toward Greg and the younger CSI retreated. "I said, Greg, I don't need help."

Greg stared at him. Nick could see he'd scared Greg, but he didn't care. He wanted everyone to leave him alone to do his job, to find the person that buried this woman alive, and to make that person _pay_. Anyone who interfered with that was to be considered the enemy, or so his monster said.

"Are you okay, Nick? You're acting… Strange."

Nick didn't answer. He couldn't answer because the answer was no, but that would only lead to Greg wanting to help him, and his monster was hungry enough it could destroy all of Nick's relationships without hesitation.

"Okay. Well… Let me know if you change your mind." Greg turned and rushed out of the room.

Nick watched him leave before turning back to the coffin lid.

#

"Albert, where's the autopsy report for Nick's corpse? She was buried and there were fire ants. Did you finish her yet?"

Robbins turned away from Greg's tar man, finding Grissom rifling through the files on his desk. Grissom knew he didn't like him doing that. Grissom's idea of filing was to smash files into a drawer and find what he needed later, and he carried that habit with him into the morgue.

Robbins sat the skull saw in his hands down, pulled of his gloves, and hobbled over to wave Grissom away from his desk.

"It's not in there. He picked it up at the start of the shift. All the evidence too. Stop messing with my files, Gil."

"Did he seem okay to you? I haven't seen him yet tonight."

"As a matter of fact, no. For the third night in a row he bit my head off when I told him I still didn't have the tox results. He got so belligerent I had to ask him to leave."

"What did the autopsy tell you about her?"

"Preliminary, I say she died of asphyxiation from the ants. Her lungs were full of them. David and I spent a couple hours spraying her with CO2 once we opened her. They were still alive inside her."

"The CO2 doesn't kill them you know. It just stuns them."

"We discovered that. Thank you for telling us ahead of time."

"I didn't think about them surviving in her body. Were there any signs of trauma? Did she fight back?"

"I couldn't tell. Her fingers were worn down to the bone. Probably from clawing at the box lid."

"Before or after she was buried."

Robbins thought about it and started to answer. A connection suddenly formed as he looked at the drawer the corpse was in. Robbins hobbled over to it, yanked open the door and pulled the drawer out. He hastily unzipped the bag and picked up her hand, looking at it. Grissom approached the other side, looking at her other hand.

"After she was buried?" Grissom asked.

Robbins laid the dead woman's hand on her stomach, looking up at Grissom. "I think he made that connection at the scene, which is probably what set off his panic attack at the crime scene."

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"During the panic attack, did he say anything?"

"He just kept repeating help me."

Grissom looked at the dead woman. Had Nick seen himself in that box instead of her? It would explain his reaction and it would explain his rare, vile mood.

Grissom zipped the bag up. "I gotta get him off this case. Thanks, Albert."

"I don't think you should do that, Gil," Robbins suggested.

Grissom looked up at him. "He can't stay objective about this case with his past, Albert."

"He's the one that ordered full panels on this woman. He's being extremely thorough. Did you ever order him to seek counseling after that ordeal?"

Grissom shook his head.

"I think he might be struggling with some things he never dealt with and this is case is forcing him to face those things. Maybe letting him see this through is what he needs."

Grissom smiled. "Thank you." Grissom walked toward the door. He stopped suddenly and turned, staring at the corpse on the table. It was still partially covered in a hard tar shell. He looked back at Robbins.

"Did Greg ask you to cut the tar off?"

"No. He kept stabbing his corpse, so I decided to do it myself before he destroyed the corpse."

Grissom nodded. "Probably a good choice." He turned and left.

#

Nick walked into the A.V. lab, glad to find Archie had run off somewhere and he would have the room to himself. He pulled up the DNA files and began a comparison in CODIS. He wasn't going to talk to the husband until he was sure the man was guilty.

"Nick," Brass said from the door.

He turned, watching the Detective walk in and lean against the edge of the desk.

"I brought in the husband. Guess what he was doing when we found him?" Brass smiled, trying to bait him into a game.

Nick wasn't in the mood for games. "Why did you pick up the husband? I never told you to do that. He isn't even a suspect yet."

"He filed a missing persons on his wife, so I was following up on it. Hodges also mentioned that—"

"Hodges isn't a CSI, Brass!" Nick bellowed.

Brass didn't speak right away. He stared back at Nick without any expression that hinted to what he thought or felt.

Quietly, as if trying to soothe a child having a tantrum, he told Nick, "Grissom asked me to follow up on the missing person's report. And while Hodges isn't a CSI, his hunch was correct. When we arrived at the man's house, he was packing to leave. He told me that he was leaving for just a few days, but there was enough stuff for a few months. Since I have a few years up on you in investigating homicides, I went with my gut that this man was about to disappear, so I brought him in for questioning. Any questions?"

Nick looked away. Brass' calm, but angry, lecture actually soothed some of Nick's anger.

"He's in a room downstairs. When should I tell the officer to expect you?"

The computer beeped and Nick looked back. His anger fizzled when the match came back as the husband.

Brass glanced at the screen. "What was that from?"

"I lifted some hairs from her clothes and skin from under fingernails still on her hands. She was still alive when she scratched him."

It took Brass a couple minutes of looking from screen to CSI to make the connection.

"She was buried alive?"

Nick slowly nodded. He felt weak and sick to his stomach. What could this woman have possibly done that warranted the torture of being buried alive?

"Are you okay?" Brass asked.

Nick looked down. "Brass… I was wondering… Do you mind sitting in on the interview?"

"Sure. But are you okay? You look like you could throw up."

Nick stood, collecting his files and printing out the screen. He grabbed it off the printer and pretended to be sorting his papers so he wouldn't have to look at Brass.

"She was buried alive, Brass. She was still breathing and conscious when he put dirt and ants on her."

"So the guy's a bastard. We've dealt with worse."

Nick forced a smile, looking him in the eye. In his mind Nick snarled at him, '_You don't fucking get it_!' Out loud he said, "Let's not keep the husband waiting."

He followed Brass out of the lab.

#

Nick entered the interview room, his eyes on the folder and papers. The long walk had given his nerves time to fail him and apprehension to swell. Nick sat down next to Brass, staring at the folder on the table.

Kevin Montrèsor, husband to Sarah Montrèsor, sat opposite of him. Like Nick, his arms and face were covered with pustules. On his neck and arms were deep scratches from fingernails. If Nick had been able to focus, he would have realized that the most damning proof was plain as the nose on Kevin's face. But he just stared at the folder, silent. Eventually the silence made Kevin Montrèsor stop tapping his leg and stare at Nick. It was a long enough that Brass slowly looked at him. Even the officer standing guard at the door eventually looked down at Nick.

To Nick, it was mere seconds that he was silent. He was trying to find the courage to make his mouth open and vocal chords work. He knew if he messed this up, if his emotions got in the way, Sarah Montrèsor's husband and killer would walk. He couldn't have that. He couldn't let that happen. Not because he felt she deserved justice, because the man that kidnapped him and buried him alive had escaped, even if it was through death.

"You were married to Sarah Montrèsor?" Nick softly asked.

Brass pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and read the screen. He quickly fired off a text message and returned his focus on the interview.

"Yeah."

Nick cleared his throat. "I'm told you were packing to leave when they picked you up. I'm confused. Why would a guy leave if his wife was missing? You did file this missing person's report, didn't you?" Nick slid it across the table to Kevin. He kept his eyes on the table, unable to look at Kevin.

Kevin didn't even look at it. "Yeah. I figured she'd just left with her lover."

"She was cheating on you?"

"Yeah. With another woman. I found out by walking in on them."

Nick made the mistake of looking into Kevin's dispassionate eyes. Was this what Walter Gordon had looked like when he spoke to Grissom? When he laughed and then blew himself up to leave Nick for dead?

Nick didn't realize that his mind had wondered and everyone in the room was staring at him again. Brass cleared his throat. When that didn't work, he cleared it even louder.

Nick glanced at Brass, and then looked down at his papers. His courage was selling out on him.

"Uh… When, uhm… When was the last time you s-saw your wife?"

"A few days ago. So she was buried alive?"

Nick slowly looked up. He hadn't said that. He knew Brass or the arresting officer never would have said that.

With a shaking voice, Nick asked, "Why would you ask that?"

Kevin leaned on the table. "Ask what?"

"No one told you how she was found."

"Really? I thought someone had. How _was_ she found?"

Nick looked as his papers. The edge of his vision was burning. Nothing was making sense anymore. He heard sounds inside his body just like… Like…

Nick stood so fast he knocked his chair over. "Excuse me a minute." And he left the room before anyone could object.

He didn't see Kevin sit back with a smug smile. Brass glared at the man, the presumed killer.

"Don't go anywhere," Brass told him.

"I got all night, Officer," Kevin said and then laughed.

Brass walked out into the hall, but Nick was gone. He opened the observation room door. It was empty.

Brass called Grissom. "Gil. That problem you asked me to check up on… It just walked out of an interview and it wasn't acting normal. What do you want me to do?" Brass glanced back into the room. "I'll detain him as long as I can."

#

Nick leaned on his legs, trying to fight back the nausea. He'd never walked out on an interview and he couldn't convince himself to go back to it. The mere thought of being in the same room with Kevin Montrèsor made his stomach tie into more knots.

"Nick?"

Nick looked at Grissom standing at the bottom of the stairs. His supervisor slowly climbed the stairs and sat down on the step with Nick. Time was moving slower now and it felt like hours passed that they sat in silence.

Nick wrapped his arms around his stomach and laid his head against the cool concrete

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered.

Grissom nodded. "I know you are."

"I can't do the interview."

"Okay."

Nick looked at Grissom, who in turn looked back.

"Am I in trouble?" Nick asked.

Grissom shook his head. "Why would you be?"

Nick looked down the stairs. He leaned forward on his legs, clasping his hands together.

"I think, Nick, you have some issues you haven't quite worked through. Once this case is behind us, you need to consider counseling."

Nick looked at him. "I'm in therapy. We met this afternoon and again tomorrow."

Grissom hadn't expected that. "When did you start therapy?"

Nick looked at his hands. If this had been anyone else, even Warrick, he wouldn't be willing to admit anything. Even though Nick was practically raised by his mother and sisters, he believed what his father had taught him – there were some things men just didn't talk about with other men. Grissom was an exception. He always had an easy time talking to him and telling him things he'd never tell anyone else.

"I was a mess after I was buried alive. Did you know I got into a bar fight and was arrested for assault?"

Grissom nodded. "The arresting officer told me. He said your mother showed up and bailed you out, and then the plaintiff mysteriously dropped the charges. He accused me of being behind that."

"That was my parents doing. But for doing that, they gave me an ultimatum. I had to start seeing a therapist for work stuff, or they were going to pack up my house and make me go back to Texas. I chose therapy. Twice a month unless things get real bad, like they have been the last couple of days." Nick fought back the tears as he added, "I was over the nightmares a year ago, Grissom. They've come back. This case…"

"This case is probably a blessing in disguise."

Nick looked at him. "A blessing?"

"It's forcing you to face your fear and deal with it. But Nick, while Warrick and I can deal with Fire Breathing Nick, I can't say the same for the rest of your co-workers. They're confused and worried about you. You scared Catherine and Greg and maybe even Hodges." Grissom hesitated and smiled. "Hodges needs a good scare. Strike that."

Nick chuckled with Grissom.

"I tell you what. Let me handle your interview, and any others that might come up. You handle the evidence. You don't have to work this case alone."

"You're not going to take it from me?"

"I was, but… What good would come of that, Nick?"

Nick smiled, shrugging. "I thought I'd have to fight you on it eventually."

"I'm too old for a fist fight. Thanks for the offer, though."

Nick smiled at him. Grissom patted his shoulder as he stood up.

"Where's your case file?"

"Brass has it, I think. I left it in the room."

"Okay. I'll let you know what happens."

"Thanks."

Grissom walked down the stairs, disappearing. Nick laid his head against the wall. Despite the talk, he was still wrestling with demons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Grissom entered the interview room and sat down across from Kevin. He was grateful that Brass didn't even raise an eyebrow to see him there. Kevin wasn't so calm about it. He grinned.

"Where's the other guy? Get scared?"

Grissom moved past the question. Nick wasn't this man's concern. "I'm CSI Gil Grissom," Grissom told him as he quickly scanned the files. "Kevin, tell me, why were you packing to leave town two days after you filed a missing person's report on your wife?"

"Like I _keep_ telling everyone, I had a business trip."

"And it couldn't be rescheduled? It took precedence of your missing wife whom you were married to for eight years?"

Kevin smiled, nodding. "Yeah. It did. Was I arrested for wanting to keep my job?"

"You're not under arrest," Brass reminded him. "_Yet._"

"You don't appear too upset about your wife's death," Grissom observed.

Kevin shot back, "Real men don't cry."

"Oh. I understand you believed your wife left you for her lover and that's why you didn't file the report within twenty-four hours of her disappearance."

"Yeah. That's right."

"So the last time you saw her, she was alive? Was that before or after she was buried alive?"

"Is that how she was found? Alive?"

Grissom smiled. "Buried, not alive. But I'm sure you already knew that. Didn't you?"

"Someone told me that."

"Since you've only spoken to five people within the department, and I doubt any of them told you, I'm curious who this someone might be. Perhaps the person that killed your wife?"

Kevin smirked. "Perhaps."

"So then give me the person's name."

Kevin shook his head.

"So you're conspiring with the person?"

"No!"

"If you don't give us your accomplice's name, then you're conspiring," Brass told him. "Just as good as killing her yourself."

Kevin shook his head, looking away. "You have no proof I was involved."

"He's right," Brass said to Grissom. "I guess we'll just have to get him on harboring a suspect and obstruction of justice."

"Those carry hefty charges," Grissom told Brass. "Either way, he'll be in jail for a while. We'll have time to search his house and vehicle."

"Maybe we'll post it in the paper. Get some attention on him. I'm sure his friends and co-workers, family maybe, will like to know how it happened." Brass leaned on the table. "So did you watch or did you help this person nail the lid shut?"

"I think he thought of the ants. He is an exterminator," Grissom told Brass.

"Really?" Brass asked Grissom. "Why ants?"

"You know, I really don't know," Grissom lied, playing the 'dumb cop' card. "They don't do much damage."

"That's not true," Kevin snapped.

Grissom looked at him. "It's not?"

"They can clean a carcass in minutes."

"Really?" Brass asked. "I didn't know that. So they must have been on the property when your wife was buried alive."

"Unless someone placed them there, but that seems risky," Grissom told Brass. "These aren't your ordinary ants; these things seem a lot more aggressive and dangerous. I don't think anyone would be daring enough to handle them."

"If you know what you're doing, you can safely move an entire colony," Kevin told Grissom.

"Can you?"

Kevin leaned on the table. "See, the trick is stunning them and knowing where the queens are. You get the queens first and a lot of workers. If you leave the larvae behind or crush about a dozen or so, they go into this frenzy and attack anything."

"Like a gardener that happened upon them?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah. I guess that guy just had bad luck."

"And your wife? How did you get the ants on her? I imagine it would have been hard with her struggling?"

"That was easy! She was out when I put her in the ground, and then I buried her with the pipes, poured the ants down the pipes, and pulled the pipes out. She was screaming like you would not believe before…" Kevin stopped. He slowly sat back. "I mean… I imagine she was screaming before…"

Grissom smiled, leaning on the table. "Please. Continue. I was enjoying the education."

Kevin looked down, shaking his head. "Naw. You ain't pinning this on me. I didn't kill her."

Grissom smiled. "But Mister Montrèsor, don't fire ants cause pustules when they bite. Like the ones that are covering your arms and face?"

"You son of a bitch!" Kevin spat. "You tricked me!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You knew all that stuff about fire ants all along. You just wanted me to confess to killing my wife!"

"Did you kill your wife?"

"Yeah! She was a homo bitch!"

Almost instantly Kevin realized he had said too much, but this time there was no taking it back.

"Thank you Kevin." Grissom closed the folder and stood. "He's all yours, Jim."

Grissom left the room, feeling satisfied. He was going to be able to tell Nick his victim's killer was identified and would pay for what he'd done. He wouldn't escape like Walter Gordon had.

#

The minute he hit the door, the entire bar started welcoming Nick. He smiled, laughed, passed out hugs and a few kisses to women, handshakes to men. Warm, caring Nick had returned, marked by only a few red dots where the vanished pustules were still healing.

Warrick and Greg trailed in behind him.

"You just had to let him pick the bar tonight, didn't you?" Greg yelled over the music.

Warrick smiled. "Hey, I'll suffer a night at some hick bar if it means Nick'll come to work in a good mood in two days. Wouldn't you?"

Greg thought about that a moment. "Is that a trick question?"

Warrick laughed.

Nick suddenly emerged from the crowd in front of them. "There's a table over there." Nick pointed them in the direction. "I gotta a rain check I gotta pay up on."

"With who?" Warrick asked.

Nick pointed over his shoulder at a red head in a tight tank top, jeans, and cowboy boots. Everything about her curves was a head turner. Warrick and Greg both smiled.

"Gillian. She's been asking me to dance with her for weeks."

"You want us to order you anything?"

"Naw! I'll get something when I come over." Nick disappeared into the crowd with Gillian.

Warrick and Greg made their way to a table and sat down on tall bar stools. Greg leaned over the table.

"Have you ever seen Nick in a mood like he was in?"

"Yeah. Back when we were rookies. The first time it happened, we damn near got into a fight at a crime scene. I finally got tired of it and called up his oldest brother up – Nick does whatever James tells him to so I was hoping he'd talk some sense into Nicky. Instead he tells me that not even God himself could bring Nick out of these moods. He said it only happened when something got a hold of him in the wrong way, and only he could figure out how to get free from it. But when he did, he told me to take him to a country bar and let him dance till he dropped, or hire him a hooker for the night. The bar's cheaper!"

Greg laughed.

"Hey, are you two Warrick and Greg?"

The two turned, staring at the women watching them. One was a blonde and average. She wore a western cut shirt with rhinestones and silver studs, a miniskirt and boots. Her friend was a tall African-American, flawless smooth skin, long curly hair, a midriff tank top, and tight blue jeans revealing her long legs that ended in pearl white boots.

"Yeah," Greg and Warrick answered.

"Nick said you two don't know how to do the Cotton Eyed Joe," the blonde said. "He asked if we'd teach you. It's the next song."

"What's the Cotton Eyed Joe?" Greg asked.

Warrick reached over and smacked the back of his head. "Say yes to the lady."

"I mean yes," Greg said with a smile.

Warrick slid off the stool and held out his arm. The dark woman slid her arm into his and they disappeared. Greg waited until Warrick disappeared.

"You know Nick Stokes?" Greg asked the blond.

"Honey, everyone here knows Nick Stokes," she answered with a smile. "All the guys wish they were him, all the girls wish they were his. You coming?"

"Right behind you."

She led him to the dance floor as the Cotton Eyed Joe started.


End file.
